“Okay . . .”
“I’m the vice president of a motorcycle club. Hell’s Heathens.”
My stomach knots tighter. A motorcycle club? His words momentarily stun me, but then I look at him and take it all in. I don’t know much about motorcycle clubs outside of Charlie Hunnam andSons of Anarchy,but Rhys is definitely fitting the vibe. Not to put him in a stereotypical box, but it definitely works. Fear grips me next. Motorcycle Clubs are notoriously dangerous, filled with violent criminals. My eyes flick down to his battered knuckles, and suddenly, I feel like the world’s biggest idiot.
Am I that desperate? That stupid? I didn’t see all the red flags with Blake and now Rhys, too? What is wrong with me?
“I’ve never heard of them,” I say quickly, fidgeting with my fingers and taking another small step backward. Beneath the pit of nerves, there’s this pull to him, a fragile hope that I can’t let go of, wanting him to explain so I understand. There’s no way this man is a violent criminal. It’s not possible. There’s no way I’m this wrong about him.
“That’s a good thing. We stay quiet most of the time, focusing on our businesses and families. We live in Amberwood and don’t often leave there. We take care of the community in any way we can, and we take care of any evil that pops up that threatens our peace.”
A chill runs down my spine as I take in the gravity of his last words.
“And by take care of you mean . . .”
“We stop it, Bristol. We protect those who can’t protect themselves. By any means necessary.”
“So, the bruises, your hands . . . that’s fromfighting.”
He regards me for a moment, like he’s contemplating how much to tell me. “Yeah, it’s from fighting.”
“But you’re okay?” I ask, squeezing my fingers at my torso, the idea of something worse happening to him making my stomach turn with a fear I’ve never felt before. I can’t believe the man I’m so consumed with is involved in an organization like that. One where he’s guilty of violence, of god knows what else. But the thought of someone hurting him? Of him getting himself killed?
“Bristol—” he practically whispers, his voice low and deep. “The way you’re looking at me right now would make most men happy. But to see your concern? It’s wrecking me, love.”
His words, the delivery, the name—it’s all a lot, and my heart feels like it’s cracking open wide as emotions I’ve never felt before consume me.
My words fracture as I say them, almost desperately. “You’re hurt. . . of course I’m concerned.” He stands, taking two steps into my space, his hands moving to my face, brushing the rogue hairs to tuck behind my ears. Chills break out across my skin, my cheeks warming with heat. I want to lean into the touch, to ask him to never stop.
He looks at me with so much reverence, so much adoration and desire that I swear I feel it down to the marrow of my bones. I expect him to say something, anything, on topic, but his next words nearly bring me to my knees. I know without a shadow of a doubt that everything is about to change.
“You don’t even realize what you do to me, the power you hold, how one word from you quiets every storm in my head. I swear, being near you feels like finallyfinding the place I’ve been trying to return to my entire life. There isn’t a single part of my existence, past, present, or whatever the hell comes next, that doesn’t ache for you.”
Chapter Fifteen
RHYS
God, do I want to kiss her right now. The way she’s looking up at me is giving all the right signals—her heavy breathing, the way her big, beautiful eyes flick down to my lips before meeting my eyes again. This thing between us defies all logic, all rational thought. It’s chemical, at a level deeper than anything either of us has ever experienced before. Hell, it’s deeper than most people experience. Soulmates exist. Bristol Owens is my proof.
“You’re so beautiful, Bristol. I’ve wanted to tell you that since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Rhys . . .”
“I love when you say that.”
“Your name?”
“It’s never sounded better than it does coming from your lips.”
“What do other people call you? Like, at your club? They have nicknames, right?”
“My road name is Sin.” A short, dark, self-deprecating laugh comes from her, and I can’t help but smile.
“How fitting.”
“Yeah.” If she only knew. “Tell me, have you ever sinned, Bristol?” I ask as I drag the tips of my fingers down her arm. The goosebumps that follow behind my touch make my heart skip a beat. She’s so responsive to me. I can’t help but imagine all the ways I could make her feel good, discover all the noises she makes, all the incredible things her body can do. My head dips lower, my nose brushing against hers with just a feather of a touch, but it’s enough to have my hands shaking, my heart pounding.
“I—” A knock at the door pops our bubble, Bristol staggering back a few steps, putting unwanted space between us. She’s flustered, her skin flushed and rosy, and I watch as she takes a moment to gather herself. I take a seat back in the chair, adjusting the semi in my jeans the moment she turns her back to answer the door.
